When she puts the bow in his hair and gives him the brightest smile he's ever seen, her infectious joy takes him and he too smiles back before ruffling the skirt he'd struggled into.
Ciel, she says, Ciel you're so pretty.
And he feels pretty, spinning in Elizabeth's dress and wearing flowers in his hair and smiling without worry or care as to the scolding they would both receive later, lady's blush covering his cheeks and Aunt Ann's crimson lipstick smeared along his lips and a bit of his chin (Elizabeth, skilled as she was at the tender age of five, lacked the finesse a woman like Aunt Angelina required to apply make up expertly). They were not to touch these treasures, especially him, but they couldn't resist for long, not when Elizabeth was given a brand new set of Corsican dresses for the upcoming summer and all the adults were in the backyard pretending to have a good time.
Between laughter and smiles, he takes his fiance's hand in his and squeezes it with gratitude; Lizzie is prettier, he says to her, and this makes her so happy that she throws her arms around him and the two ladies laugh and smile and smudge their rouge and eyeshadow on each others cheeks and lips and dresses and shoulders.
He only wishes he had been able to look at himself in the mirror before excitement took him and the dress ended up staining three different colors (not that Elizabeth minded, she was a surprisingly good sport about it), because despite his mother's firm reminders every now and then to remember that he is a gentleman, and a gentleman of good fortune no less, Ciel is still quite happy to act the part of a lady.
As long as you're happy, Elizabeth will always tell him, then we don't have to listen to them. As long as the two of us are happy, we'll do whatever we want.
And they do.
